As Darkness Falls
by morebones
Summary: "It hurts. It's been four years of impossible stories and mundane cases. Of smiles and tears, life and death. Four years of friendship, of more than partnership. A slow but secure - or so he had thought - walk toward Love. With a capital L. And now it's all gone." An "Always" fic. I just couldn't help it.


_**A/N:** I started writing this just after the season finale because, how could I just not? But I had already written "Choosing Life" before it and I didn't want to be repetitive (especially when the episode had been almost perfect), so it stayed on my computer. However, I kept writing and adding bits and putting "final" touches to it whenever my interfering real life allowed me to. I have now 3 finale OS waiting to be posted. _

___This one is like some sort of journey through the episode, with base on the last scene. _

___Oh, by the way, I found a beta... but I haven't heard from her in months. It means that all the inaccuracies and mistakes you may find are, therefore, mine because, although I've gone over the text countless times, there's no way I have been infallible. Please excuse them. Or be my beta for the next one. I'd be extremely grateful, because I end up exhausted._

Disclaimer_: _If they were mine, I would be rich and famous and probably more stressed and anxious. And crankier too. Instead, I'm broke and only a bit - and adorably - grumpy.

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**As Darkness Falls**

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He doesn't pick up. Her picture smiles at him in the screen and it tears his heart to pieces over again. The weather couldn't be more appropriate, he bitterly thinks, as the roaring sound of thunder fills the stillness of the room, suspended for a moment by the chirp of her call. The storm outside is a reflection of his soul, somber, desolate and enraged, and he can't help being fearful that when it ends, there would be nothing left of it. Of them. He presses the button to ignore the call and wishes his heart were as smart; as easy to handle as the phone. That he could erase the hurt just like that, with a movement of his finger.

She had told him that he had betrayed her but she was the one who had betrayed him; their partnership. With her silence first, even though that decision he could understand - not agree with it, not completely forgive it, but at least understand it- and with those words filled with rancor then. She just doesn't see. She'll be killed. He loves her and she'll die and he can't bear the thought. He would do anything to prevent her from dying at the hands of those criminals and she just wants to throw herself at them.

If he has to step away to try to make her come to her senses again he will do it. Or at least try his best, for as long as he manages to.

He switches the smartboard on and there she is again, still smiling. Beautiful and brave and carefree. No. No. Stubborn and daring and careless. Imprudent, reckless. Unmindful of the consequences of her acts. Unconcerned about what her chase would mean for those who love her.

He takes a last look at his work and swallows the pain.

Another sweep of his finger and it's all gone.

He breathes. It hurts. It's been four years. Four years of impossible stories or mundane cases. Of smiles and tears, life and death. Four years of friendship, of more than partnership. A slow but secure - or so he had thought - walk toward Love. With a capital L. And now it's all gone.

Yes, it hurts.

The steady rhythm of the rain falling heavily outside the windows helps him to keep his breathing even. But before he is able to settle back, a knock on the door rips away the calm and it's more deafening than the thunderclaps accompanying the rain. He knows it's got to be her. Breathing deeply to try to clad his heart in armor, to be strong and to keep his decision, he opens the door.

"_Beckett, what do you want…?" _

His eyes are cloudy and he sounds dull, tired. Weary. She just stares at him from the doorstep, trying to form a coherent thought. Her heart is pounding so hard inside her chest that the deep rumble of thunder breaking the heavy silence surrounding them, seems insignificant. She doesn't hear anything anymore but the blood rushing wildly through her veins. She's almost unable to breathe, to think straight; to speak more than a word.

But it's a word full of meaning.

"_You"_

And then, she acts.

She's had enough. She's spent too long adrift in that spiral of chaos, in that unending personal crusade of hers that finally made her lose her North.

It's her final move. Her only move. Forwards.

Because she _was_ lost until he came along and took a place no one before had occupied.

He's been her guide, her lifeline, since. Unwillingly and inadvertently at first, even before they really meet; too enthusiastically (_like a child on a sugar rush_) for one moment, back when his shadowing her was still not a real partnership; purposefully and with all his senses for almost a year, despite her selfishness, her obliviousness, her fears, her weakness, her barriers, her holding back… Against the odds, hoping for a complete uncertainty to take form, harming his own heart in the way, and in detriment of his personal well-being, he'd stood, protecting her in the shadows. He's been there with such resilience that she never thought that they could end. And after they had that fight on her apartment, she didn't even fathom that he wouldn't come back. It didn't occur to her that the price of her stubbornness, the price to pay for not allowing her heart to heal, could be losing him forever.

When, in the morning, she'd visited her mom's grave, she had felt like those ancient warriors that went to offer their lives to the Gods or Goddesses before the battle. To some extent, she understood those warriors because, like them, she felt she owed her life to someone. To her mother. So, even though she barely cried there anymore - the place being too familiar; the pain having been replaced by what she adamantly persisted in calling sense of justice - today had been all too much.

Things were different now. They had been for a while.

As the sun had cast its first beams over the cemetery, she had felt with full force the sorrow of loss. The lack of sleep; the unending thoughts of probable or improbable scenarios for her case and her mom's; the constant images of her own shooting popping in her head, unsought; the unrelenting impression of having been used, misled and deceived by the person she wanted to open herself to; the burning need of replacing the pain with something, of making it all count... They had only increased the feeling.

It was piercing, and her strength had broken. She'd shed tears. Tears for Castle's betrayal, for having to choose this, her cause, her mom's death, and for letting him go. It had felt like an obligation, her responsibility. Obtain justice. Put her mom first. It was what had to be done.

In silent prayer, as those tears ran down her cheeks, she had hoped that her war was worth the hurt. Still, she refused to admit the absurdity of it, for it was a losing battle. Yes, it'd be she alone against whoever this damn dragon may be and he is strong and powerful and ruthless and this would be, almost undoubtedly, a war that may end her life. But if that's the way it has to be, she would take it. She had long ago accepted whatever fate it may bring. It's what she had thought was fair.

Deep down she knew, however, that her mother wouldn't have approved of what she was doing, what she'd been doing for so long and was about to do again. However, she wouldn't allow herself to think about it (or to think about the _what if_s or about what she was missing) for more than a second.

Truth be told, her mom would've approved of what Castle had done.

So, with his words still fresh on her mind, almost mingling with those Kate knows her mother would've uttered, it had been more difficult than ever to keep on with her chase.

They just didn't understand (she'd tried to convince herself) that it's her life in exchange for the truth. Because that's what (she thought) the inscription on the tombstone meant. Her purpose on life. Find her mom's voice, no matter the cost.

Running after a trained shooter (killer) without backup was the final warning. It had been irrational, reckless, stupid. She'd listed out reasons to do it, like the possible implication of cops or the lack of support they could encounter on Gates. But it was all babbling. Pointless rationalization. Or maybe justification of her arrogance. She felt this was hers. Her fate, her fight, her life. She had lost so many meaningful people to it that she needed to prove that it hadn't all been in vain.

So, although she, intellectually, recognized that pursuing her mom's case with such intent was not right, that she could get herself killed and she could very possibly get anyone that was near her killed as well, she couldn't manage to feel the wrongness of her decisions.

Until she was hanging on that building. Then, it was like being hit by a rock.

She had had her fight, her cause, her obsession, and it all had made her stand there, alone. Not just by herself. Alone. She'd shaken Castle off, had disregarded Ryan and his advice, she even ignored if Esposito was dead or alive. She was failing everyone. Them, his father, Roy, herself… And her mother will remain dead.

She saw it clear.

She didn't want to be alone anymore, because she didn't need to. She'd have to make amends, but she had people. Her people. She had Castle.

Trying to get a tighter grip on the ledge for dear life she counted on him, like she'd come to do too often. She can always count on him to cheer her up, to make her feel special, to share a moment, to give her hope. Him, with his crazy theories and his smiles and his bright blue eyes shining his love for her. Him, with the way he's got to make her mad and to make her laugh. With the way he has to make her believe. Believe in a future, together; a future for which he's waiting.

And then, she could only hear him. She could only think of him. She just wanted him: Him to be there; him to help her; him to save her. Save her from herself.

But he was not there. And she had never before felt things being so wrong.

Because it hadn't been his hand what had pulled her up to the roof. It hadn't been his voice the one that had comforted her. There hadn't been jokes nor confessions on subtext, nor lingering glances, smiles of relief, innocent touches that hide the restraint passion under their skins.

If the thought of a "forever" with him had caused her a feeling of vertigo before, the possibility of forever without him was simply unbearable.

Nothing mattered, but him, anymore.

As she'd given her badge, she'd felt the heavy burden of her past ease a bit. She'd felt her heart thrum, the knot on her stomach loosen. Adrenaline may have been impulsing her, but it was a conscious decision. She doesn't need her work to define who she is. It was just a means to get her through the succession of days (all dull and grey, and the same) without finding out closure. The days with nothing more to live for than her revenge.

But now she had him. She only wished she wasn't too late.

She'd sat on the rain wishing it could wash her sins. Her cowardice, especially. She may have been healing, as her therapist said, but her reluctance to let go (of her mom, of her cause) was only due to fear. Fear of discovering that she was useless, only damaged goods and worthless of love. Of Castle's love.

That promise she'd made to her mother to find her killer, to serve justice, had been deceitful. It had been wrong, because it was moved by wrong feelings. But she's not a resentful girl, full of guilt and grief and rancor anymore. She still aches. She still misses her mom. But that's ok. And this, _this _that she's feeling right now, has nothing to do with the anger and bitterness of that previous decision that marked her life.

When the sniper had looked down, locking eyes with her, disgusting smirk on his lips, and had uttered those words ("We know exactly who we're dealing with") she had never felt so little, so insignificant.

She never wants to be again in that position, her life on the edge and without her partner.

If she continues this war she'd always lose. Even if she found the dragon, even if she defeated him, whoever he is, she'd have lost. There's no justice served when you're dead. There's more to life than just revenge. And she wants it. She doesn't want to lose friends and miss opportunities that she won't be able to recover ever again. She doesn't want to get lost again. She doesn't want to live without a guiding light. Her North. Her partner. Castle…

She wants to make her stand in a way that counts.

She's never been more sure of what she wanted her whole life.

She needs him, she wants him. She loves him.

There's nothing more to it. Nothing else to think about on the pouring rain, as her feet walk on their own accord toward her beacon.

She survived a shot to her chest and a life devoted to a lost cause. She's survived so many encounters with death that she couldn't count them. Yet, she doesn't feel immortal, nothing further, to be truthful. But sure as hell she feels empowered by her survival, by her fight, for being still here, and she's never been more determined.

So this is indeed her final move. Her only move. Forwards. Toward him.

Every emotion that she has been disguising, hiding and denying for so long comes in full force, before his silence. She'll need to prove with her acts what she's been denying for so long, that she's in this; that she loves him more than she thought possible.

Drenched, having left everything behind her, and with nothing holding her back, she needs to make him understand that she does want him and even more than that. She wants _them_.

She steps into the loft, hands first to take his face and avoid his retreat. She kisses him with her soul on her lips, her heart on her eyes. Hope and love oozing from each pore of her ice-cold body. Her limbs numb from the damp clothes. Between shivers she pleads for forgiveness once and again.

She just wants to be like this, breathing the same air as him, feeling his skin on her skin. Letting his heat warm her up, inside and outside.

But he deters her. Of course he does. How can he trust her after she gave up on them, on the possibility of them? He can't possibly see the peace on her mind, the freedom, the love unleashed. If only he looked into her eyes he would.

"_What happened?"_

"_They got away and I didn't care. I almost died. And all I could think about was you. All I want is you."_

It may look as she doesn't give enough importance to her almost dying today, but she does feel alive. For the first time in so many years that she can't even count, she feels alive without her bike and the wind on her face; without a murderer to catch; without the power of a gun or the smell of gunpowder; without her runs; without her books, her music, her art, her heels.

She feels like when she had the whole world at her feet. He makes her feel like that. And she can't believe, dangling as she is now on the limbo between his fear and his forgiveness, that she'd been stopping it (her, him) for so long. Why didn't she open her heart before? Her breath catches at the hurt caused by the time lost. She briefly thinks of the many evenings they could have spent together just basking on their mutual love.

No. This, where they are now, wouldn't have been possible two years ago. Maybe last year, if he had stepped up and told her what he really felt, if she hadn't taken that bullet, if there hadn't been third parties… Maybe. But even then, with her feelings still a bit hurt for his trip back to his past-life, but also more well-defined than before (just like his) they would have been haunted by her little crusade. Nonetheless, now, she is so completely sure and at peace with what she feels that she would give up everything for him. In fact, she has. And that wouldn't have been possible back then.

Now their love is so real it exists by itself. He's proven it repeatedly, just by sticking at her side, waiting for a hope to take shape for almost a year of mixed signs, of lies, of not-near-enough. She has proven hers by wanting to be more for him, leaving everything she thought her life should be, everything that could hinder them, behind.

Her last words echo in the space between them; they're suspended in the infinite yearning both their bodies radiate, gravitating to each another in their anticipation.

The little touch of her fingers to his lips jerks him awake from his trance, from his doubts and makes him aware that she is really there. Those fingers mend with their soft caress the cracks of his heart. Her whole self exposed; no barriers, no walls, just for him. She's asking for understanding, imploring to be considered worth of his love. He can feel that she's really doing this, saying these things. Acting like she, not only cares about his words of before, but also wants him to prove them.

He'd thought for a moment that the pain and grief had finally took the best of him and made him see visions, imagine things. He sure wasn't expecting to hear from her anytime soon and never had he pictured this setting: she, in her purest essence, all serenity and sorrow, big eyes, bare soul, asking for forgiveness and so much more. That soft kiss, impulsive but with such security that had his head spinning; that wet kiss with those sinful lips that were now uttering words so sweetly his heart was squeezing.

He has troubles believing that what is happening is true. But those eyes do not lie. The freezing skin is tangible. The wetness of her cheeks real.

He can't deny her; he can't misunderstand what he had been sure was only his writer (and romantic) mind. He looks into her big green eyes and he can see through her. He can see it all. The calm, the openness, the honesty, the determination.

He sees promises. He sees unwavering love.

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End file.
